


Let me try to fix you

by Dominatrix



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: But I kinda love it, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, This is so fluffy I'm gonna die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m wrecked, Watson, from my most inner mind and soul. Nobody was able to fix that. Not my mother, leave alone my father. Neither my therapist nor the doctors in rehab could. I’m a lost cause. Nobody can fix me.”<br/>“Let me try.”<br/>“What?”<br/>“Just…Let me try to fix you. For a moment.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me try to fix you

Sherlock Holmes was again in a mood. Not that he ever was not in some kind of mood, or that he was easy to bear…Definitely not. However, he had never been _so_ unbearable and incredibly exertive. It was like hell on earth. Seriously.

He had started to work at night, and when Joan thought of work, she now thought of her waking up to the smell of methylated spirit and sometimes thick clouds of dark smoke when she trembled down the corridor to get Sherlock out of bed and on the street to save his goddamn life only to find him bent over some instruments and gadgets that looked highly illegal.

This night she found him in the kitchen, doing some kind of experiment. Well, he called it experiment. She called it dangerous to life and absolutely superfluous. The whole room smelled of burnt hair and poison and some kind of disgusting flavor like the smell of rotten eggs combined with fuel.

“For God’s sake, Sherlock. What the hell are you doing here? Do you know that it’s the middle of the night right now?”

He barely looked at her; instead he started mixing two fluids in one big test tube.

“Of course I know. Why shouldn’t I be aware of this? We have a clock in this room. See?” He pointed at the clock with his elbow, still holding the test tubes in his hands. They were almost slopping before he held them steady again.

Joan knew that it was only a matter of time until he would injure himself and she would have to take him to hospital in the middle of the night.

Again.

“Sherlock, put this down. Right now. Go to sleep. Lestrade will need you tomorrow.” It was like talking to a child, but with a child who knew all about how to destroy the universe. He made her go insane.

He put down the test tubes in their rack and turned to look at her right face to face. He looked awful., His hair was a mess, his cheeks weren’t shaved…But obviously he had tried to shave, some parts of his skin were smooth-looking, some covered with stubbles.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked slowly.

“That’s not your problem anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the sixth week. You’re free on Saturday.”

“But that would be…”

“Tomorrow, yeah.” He looked at the clock briefly. “Strictly speaking…Today.” Joan looked at the clock, too. It was half past one. She had done her job. She could go home. But to be honest…She did not really want to. Looking at this completely devastated Holmes, she was rather scared of the idea of leaving.

“Congratulations, Watson. You’ve survived six weeks with me. I should have brought some confetti.”

She might have laughed about this if it would be less depressing. His voice was bitter and flat. He did not smile. He did not even look at her straight. She did not know what it was that veiled his eyes, but for a second she could have sworn it was some kind of sadness. Her lips parted to form a short, quiet smile. She would miss him.

This truth hit her harder than any face punch could have. _She would miss Sherlock Holmes_. Why? Because she got used to him, because she felt pity for him? Probably. But she knew that this was not the whole truth. There was something else that hid deep inside of her, crawling in every corner of her mind, filling it up and destroying every over consideration or rational thought…And she was not sure whether she was ready to let it happen to her. She was not ready to be hurt. Not yet. Not by him. She knew that he could totally pull her to pieces, slowly, painfully, without even recognizing. Just because he was there. She was scared to death by this. He was her weakest spot. She only had one. _Him_. And he was able to find all her other weaknesses, to show them to everybody, to bring them to the surface although Joan had almost forgotten them.

 

His voice ripped her out of her thoughts.

“Would you go out with me? Maybe for a drink?”

Joan looked at him, completely puzzled by his offer. “Holmes, you know that I don’t drink.”

“Neither do I. But I would…like to see you again. You know, keep in touch. The ex-junkie and his babysitter. We’d be a huge topic at parties.”

He smiled now, but it was no real smile. He tried to hide something. But she knew him…At least she tried to tell herself that. But nobody would ever get to know Sherlock Holmes. Not even he would.

“Sherlock, what are you trying to tell me? I thought you could not wait to get rid of me. You can do everything you want now. I won’t be there to stop you.”

Her words did only intensify the pain. She wouldn’t be there. It was one thing to know it, but it was another thing to say it and mean it. He would be all on his own.

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to stay?” She heard that her voice sounded not only surprised but completely bewildered.

He snuffled with a hint of sarcastic laughter in his throat.

“Why would you want to stay with me? I’m an ex-addict…If you knew what I’m thinking about all this and how easy it would be to get into these circles again…But that’s not the point. I am eccentric and loud and - some people would call it insane.” He took a deep breath, as if these words would exhaust him. Joan knew they did.

“I’m wrecked, Watson, from my most inner mind and soul. Nobody was able to fix that. Not my mother, leave alone my father. Neither my therapist nor the doctors in rehab could. I’m a lost cause. Nobody can fix me.”

“Let me try.”

“What?”

“Just…Let me try to fix you. For a moment.”

She reached out her hands, not quite sure whether she wanted him to take them or to refuse her request. He looked at her, sadness in his eyes that was so deep and so clear that she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. Suddenly, it was totally unimportant what was happening around them, what the air smelled like and whether Sherlock’s cheeks were raspy. She had to press her body against his, in a desperate attempt to cover him, to cover him from everything that could ever happen to him or could ever try to hurt him in any possible way. She flung her arms around his neck and nestled up her face against his cheek. He groaned softly before responding to her embrace. His arms were around her waist while he pulled her close. Joan could feel his breath, hastily and deep against her throat, and buried her hands in his messed up hair.

 

“I don’t want to leave right now” she whispered hoarsely, drawing back only to look into his eyes, which were now shining in amazement and felicity.

“Then don’t.”

“Do you want me here?”

“I want you and I need you. More than I could say.”

Her heartbeat rushed in her head, she could hear the blood streaming and felt it pulsing in her body. She felt so _alive_.

He smiled at her again, and this time it was for real. She replied his soft gaze before she kissed his cheek hesitant. Well…She wanted to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head and caught her lips in a sweet kiss that soon deepened to a passionate caress, leaving both of them breathless and bewildered.

 

When the sun rose, they found themselves in Sherlock’s bed together, quietly snuggled up against each other.

They never talked about leaving again.


End file.
